


The Dress

by waxwing_Saint



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, no beta we die like bertha jorkins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29389851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waxwing_Saint/pseuds/waxwing_Saint
Summary: The Minister For Magic and her lover secret away in the middle of a gala and find a quiet little stairwell all to themselves.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 2
Kudos: 150





	The Dress

**Author's Note:**

> Rated **E** for **E** xtremely Difficult to Find a Place to Fuck When You Have Kids.

“A pleasure to see you again, monsieur.” Fleur dipped her head in a polite bow but movement from the corner of her eye threatened to drag her attention away again. She tamped down the smirk twitching at her lips and raised her chin again to the newly appointed Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. “How are the preparations for the World Cup coming along?”

He smoothed his mustache with a knobbly finger and nodded, “Oh, quite well. A lot riding on this, as you well know. After the last time we hosted. Can’t have any more of that business. But Bagman was a fool. Of course, of course.”

“Of course,” Fleur offered a diplomatic smile, letting her eyes wander over his shoulder at the brushing twirl of gold painting the crowd.

He hitched up his slacks and straightened the way they settled about his waist. “I expect we’ll be calling more of you lot in--for the added protection.” He grunted and nodded to himself, “The whole department if I had my way--a lot riding on this, you know.”

Fleur forced her eyes back to his, “I’m sorry, monsieur, you’ll have to forgive me, I have some urgent business to attend to.” She let the smile bubbling up from inside break across her face.

He jumped slightly, looking around, “But--but the aurors. F-for the World Cup.”

His disgruntled demeanor was lost on her. She was already moving away, calling back to him over her shoulder, “I’ll make sure Potter knows to expect your memo.”

She stopped short and tugged at the hem of her dress uniform, watching from the sidelines. A waiter slid up beside her and held out a tray of fine-stemmed champagne flutes. She tore her eyes away from the flash of gold to nod in thanks, taking two glasses and a deep breath before pushing forward into the crowd.

Fleur’s grin became too big to hide the closer she got to the woman. Hermione’s hair had been pinned up, a few heavily managed curls falling free, delicate makeup hid her freckles. And the dress--glittering gold silk and embroidered feathers--matched the trace of eyeshadow drawing attention up to her brown eyes. She was smiling, laughing, resting a hand on the arm of some department head or another.

Fleur was still yards away when she saw Hermione freeze, face turning to catch Fleur’s eye over her shoulder. She tipped a glass and waited as Hermione said her goodbyes. The crowd faded away and the breath left Fleur’s lungs with each step that brought Hermione closer until she was lingering on Fleur’s fingers as she took the offered champagne.

She bowed and kissed Hermione’s hand, “Minister.”

“Auror Delacour.”

Fleur’s lips lingered against warm knuckles. She glanced up at Hermione before rising to her full height. “You look beautiful tonight. That dress is--”

“Thank you,” Hermione’s mouth was desperately working to remain impassive. “You know,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “I changed in my office before I came.”

“Really?” Fleur gave an overly affected tone of interest.

Hermione hummed her assent, “Yes, I thought it’d be a nice surprise for my wife.”

“I’m sure she’s…” Fleur suppressed a chuckle, “I’m sure she’s thrilled.”

Hermione nodded, losing the fight against a slowly spreading smile, “She’s a lucky woman.”

Fleur cleared her throat, “I was wondering if I could have a word...privately.” She let her eyes sweep over the crowd, “It’s a security issue--you understand, Minister.”

Hermione looked over her shoulder at the perfectly ordinary mingling of partygoers, “Of course, security is of the highest concern. We wouldn’t want to risk a scandal.”

Dipping close to Hermione’s ear Fleur let out a heated growl, “Oh, we’ll be risking a scandal.” She didn’t miss the flush creeping up Hermione’s neck as she gripped her wrist and started for the nearest door. She’d been part of the initial security team, she’d seen the building floor plans herself--an unused landing in a stairwell that led from the boiler room below all the way up to the roof

Fleur shut the door behind them and abandoned their champagne on a low concrete step.

“Harry definitely saw us leave,” Hermione groaned as teeth found her neck.

Fleur snorted and spun them sharply, “I promise he won’t tell anyone.” The sound of Hermione’s breathy sigh was punctuated by the swish of Fleur’s wand and the slide of the bolt locking the door at Hermione’s back. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Hermione’s laugh stuttered around a moan, “he couldn’t have been the only one.”

“Are you worried someone’s going to walk in?” Fleur dragged her lips up to capture an earlobe between gentle teeth. “This is the most privacy we’ve had in months.”

Hermione’s fingers were clumsy with lust, trying to work the buttons at the shoulder of Fleur’s uniform, “No, I just…” she gave up with a frustrated huff and dropped her hands to the hem, worming her way underneath to tug at Fleur’s belt. “People will notice we’re missing.”

Fleur’s hands shot down, closing around Hermione’s wrists and drawing them up, pinning them over her head. “I suppose we’d better hurry then.”

Hermione’s lips twisted in a seductive smile, “You planned this.”

“Non,” Fleur released her wrists with a quick warning look. Her demeanor softened just long enough to bump her nose against Hermione’s cheek, to capture her lips in a loving kiss before she pulled away and, with a sharp tug, rucked the gold fabric up around Hermione’s waist. “Not before I saw you in this dress.”

Hermione threw her head back into the door, laughing, “I knew you’d love it.”

“So you did this on purpose then, to tease me?” Fleur’s eyebrow arched. She wasted no time slipping her hand into the elastic of Hermione’s underwear. Parting folds with a practiced press of her finger, Fleur had expected to find familiar slick heat. She pulled her head back sharply, looking into Hermione’s eyes.

A bemused chuckle accompanied arms lowering, hands finding their way down to Fleur’s shoulders, fingertips stroking the skin peeking up out of the high collar of her uniform. “I’ve been busy, did you think I was daydreaming about you fucking me in a stairwell all night?”

“Of course not,” Fleur gruffed and twisted her face away, pretending to glance up and down the steps for potential prying eyes.

“Oh,” Hermione cooed, ribbing gently, “have I damaged your pride? Why, how wet are you right now?” Her hands slipped off Fleur’s shoulders and made their way down to tug at the auror’s belt again, but Fleur intercepted and nudged them away.

“I’m not.”

Hermione laughed again, cupping Fleur’s hot cheeks and pulling her close for a long, slow kiss. When they parted, she gave Fleur a heady look and whispered, “Good thing you know exactly how to turn me on.”

Fleur let go of the embarrassment, choosing instead to lean into the hunger she felt curling at the edges of her stomach. When Hermione’s hands pressed against her shoulders, encouraging, she dropped to her knees. The cold of the concrete seeped in through the fabric of her pants.

“That’s it,” Hermione hummed praise as she slid her own underwear down her legs and kicked out of her high heels, flinging the slip of fabric away with them. She smiled down at Fleur’s upturned face.

“Are you sure about this?” Fleur asked, licking her suddenly dry lips. “If anyone finds out…” her eyes closed and she pressed her face into Hermione’s palm, kissing the thumb dragging across her mouth. “This is risky.”

Hermione reached around to undo the severe bun at the back of Fleur’s head. She took her time before speaking, burying her fingers in the long blonde hair and shaking it free. “We have always been a risk,” she traced the sharp, worried, angles of Fleur’s brows, “and you have always been worth it.” She let out a long breath, shaking with a chuckle, “And it’s not like we ever have a chance to be alone at home.”

“You’re the one who wanted kids,” Fleur accused playfully as she guided one of Hermione’s legs up over her shoulder.

“Me?” Hermione jabbed, grinning, tightening her grip in Fleur’s hair and tugging, “I distinctly remember you being the one who brought it up.”

Fleur’s face screwed up in thought and she shook her head. “No, I don’t believe that’s how it happened.” She canted Hermione’s hips towards her with a nudge and, splaying her fingers wide, spread Hermione bare with the pull of her thumbs. “I think I remember it differently.” She craned her neck and ducked forward to meet Hermione with the flat of her tongue. Her eyes darted up to take in the scene as her wife relaxed bonelessly against the door and let out a satisfied sigh at the contact.

She circled Hermione’s clit, coating her in a layer of saliva that would more than make up for the lack of wetness she’d found there. Still, the distinct tang of Hermione’s arousal was becoming more present with each swipe of her tongue. Diligent efforts to bring the squirming witch above her closer to the edge were paying off.

It was cramped work and the muscles at the back of her neck were starting to burn. When Fleur pulled back to kiss the shallow scoop of Hermione’s hipbone she was met with an insistent heel at her spine. “What happened to making this quick?” Hermione’s words were rushed. Fleur smiled at the twitch of need buckling the knee Hermione was resting her full weight on.

“Don’t fall,” Fleur steadied her with hands buried in the liquid gold silk bunched up around Hermione’s waist. She was left to navigate Hermione’s sex blindly, but she’d mapped out the terrain years ago and her tongue knew every blind corner and stretch of motorway.

It wasn’t long before she was surrounded by the dizzyingly sharp scent of her wife and Hermione was struggling to balance on tip toe, scrambling at the door behind her in an attempt to lift herself higher--unconsciously desperate to give Fleur more room to work.

Fleur hummed, “Which one of us is aroused now, Minister?”

“Fleur!” Hermione sniped down at her. “Don’t gloat,” she whined quietly.

Fleur chuckled, Hermione’s nails stung against her scalp. “Alright, alright,” she closed her lips around Hermione’s clit and sucked gently, rolling her tongue in a languid motion she knew drove her wife insane.

Hermione gasped and her body shuddered violently. “Inside, now,” her demand tone melted into a plea, weak and desperate, “please.”

Hermione hissed in a breath when Fleur gentled her clit between her teeth, trying to speak without releasing it, “You’ll fall over.” Her hands were the only thing keeping Hermione upright on her trembling leg.

“I won’t,” Hermione begged, “please.”

Fleur huffed out a short laugh and dedicated her mouth more fully to bringing Hermione closer to orgasm. She waited until Hermione was squirming before letting her hold her own weight and trailing fingers teasingly downward, leaving fluttering muscles in her wake.

Hermione was more than ready for her now. She slipped a finger inside and received only a frustrated grunt in return. Fleur tisked her tongue and lashed Hermione’s clit to quiet her. She could hear the moan being swallowed above her, hands on the top of her head steadying Hermione’s wobbling.

With her next glide she added a second finger and the noise that graced her was much more grateful. She didn’t waste time, curling her fingers to press against Hermione’s front wall and stroking her tongue firmly against Hermione’s clit, repeating the motion until her wife was clenching around her.

“Merlin, Fleur, yes!” Hermione lost her balance, teetering with one leg still hooked over Fleur’s shoulder. She came crashing down. Fleur threw an arm out to catch her but they ended up in a heap on the floor all the same.

Fleur groaned and slid her fingers free of Hermione’s clinging walls, rubbing her wrist. “Didn’t I tell you that you would fall?”

Hermione was still wracked with spasms, curled on her side, hugging her knees to her chest. She managed to roll her eyes and reach out to drag Fleur down by the front of her notably unwrinkled jacket. Their lips met and Fleur eased against her, supporting herself with hands on either side of her. The wet smudge of her fingers darkened the concrete.

Hermione’s body slowly relaxed and she pressed up into Fleur’s kiss. She broke away suddenly, taking in their surroundings, “Oh, we’re on the ground.”

Fleur laughed and groaned painfully as she pushed herself to her feet, helping Hermione up. They looked around together for her discarded underwear and heels. An accio revealed them to be halfway down the stairs to the boiler room.

Hermione hopped on one foot, redressing as Fleur surveyed the mess they’d made of the rest of their clothing. It took a cleaning charm to get the dusty marks out of the knees of Fleur’s dress blues, and more than one spell to smooth Hermione’s crumpled gown and mend a tear that Fleur couldn’t remember making.

Fleur kissed her again, a pretense to disguise the motion of reclaiming the hair elastic from Hermione’s wrist. She pulled away, leaving it between her teeth while she smoothed her hair back and twisted it up into place.

She watched Hermione watching her, some unreadable emotion lending weight to a heavy sigh, “I don’t want to go back out there, let’s go home.” Hermione cupped the back of Fleur’s neck and squeezed gently, massaging a lingering twinge.

Fleur pulled the elastic from her mouth and dropped a kiss on Hermione’s frowning lips before securing her hair in place. “We won’t be getting off that easily, Minister.”

Hermione clicked her tongue against her teeth, “I could make a joke,” she poked Fleur in the chest and turned her nose up, “but I’m not going to.”

“A paragon of maturity,” Fleur tamped down a smile and, after one last check of their appearance, threw the bolt on the door and opened it just enough for the two of them to slip out, unnoticed, into the crowd. Their fine-stemmed flutes of champagne stood forgotten, left to warm in the stairwell as the door shut audibly behind them.


End file.
